


Reflections

by kryptidkat



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Squabbling, Explicit Language, Gen, Like, Then again, can you spot it?, especially when it involves Party and the lobby, how much is Party downplaying it for Kobra's sake?, i left you a time gap, it's pretty vanilla as far as backstory goes, it's up to you, maybe this is finally the last Talk, not THAT tragic, sorry to keep having these talky fics they're just too much fun to write, they're both fully aware that this whole keeping secrets thing has gotten ridiculous, trafficking mention (droids), tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 09:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptidkat/pseuds/kryptidkat
Summary: The lobby. The underground. Very different, and yet not so different at all.Much like the Venom brothers.(An offhand comment from Cherri gets Kobra thinking about his and Party’s Z-1 days when they first left the city. In the foggy memories he finds few answers to his questions. Then Party accidentally lets something slip about the lobby and everything begins to fall into place. But Kobra accidentally lets slip a secret of his own, and, well, things kind of go downhill from there.)Kobra POV, mostly; Poison at the end.





	1. Kobra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KilltheDJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/gifts).

Kobra was in the Oasis. He had no idea what he was doing at the Oasis, or how the others had convinced him to be dragged along where there would be noise and lights and half-drunk people everywhere, but he was several drinks in by now and all of that had dulled into a pleasantly distant haze. 

On the stool next to Kobra, Newsagogo was ten minutes deep into a story about how her crew had retrieved their stolen generator from the Jacket Ripper gang. It was pretty hilarious, even if mostly not true. 

Purely out of habit, Kobra looked away from his own warped image in his empty glass to scan the room from behind his sunglasses. A few feet away Jet was tending bar – he’d picked up a few more shifts recently and had invited everyone along tonight for half-price drinks, which Kobra guessed was one of the perks of being sort of in charge. (The Oasis served a variety of things that might be classified as beverages if you were feeling generous, all of which tasted like shit. At least there were some different flavors of shit to choose from.) Party was standing on a table in the corner, drink in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other, preaching something to a captivated crowd gathered around. Kobra couldn’t see Ghoul anywhere. He was probably in the parking lot fighting somebody.

A flash of motion caught his eye. Cherri was waving from a table in the middle of the room.

Newsie’s story had started to drag on, so Kobra tried to stand up, and frowned a bit distastefully when he found he was stuck. Once he extracted himself from the three or four clingy admirers draped around him as politely as he could, though, he went over.

Cherri raised his glass slightly in greeting. “Having a shiny time?”

“Just sparkly,” Kobra grumbled, taking the empty seat next to him. His head was starting to hurt.

Cherri reached out and nudged Kobra’s sunglasses further up his nose. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Nah. Should keep an eye on Party.”

A cheer went up on the far side of the bar and Cherri nodded in the direction it was coming from. “Better start keeping an eye, then.”

Kobra looked. Oh, great. He’d forgotten it was karaoke night. Well, jukebox night, anyway – you just had to sing over it, which didn’t work too well, but whatever.

Party threw aside his empty glass and leapt onto the platform, striding lazily in his heeled combat boots to center stage and tossing his hair. A familiar opening beat started pounding – it was one of those classics Party loved, probably mostly because it grated on Kobra’s nerves. Punch Me Once More Baby or something.

Party could carry a tune in a bucket, nothing special. But with just a swing of the hips and a few flicks of his upstretched hands to get his onlookers moving, the room was already going wild. 

Kobra sighed. Party had that effect on people. For better or worse.

Cherri’s eyes widened as Party launched into the first verse with choreography to match. “Damn. How many has  _ he _ had.”

“Too many.” Kobra caught Jet’s eye, jerked his head at Party and made a few quick gestures.  _ Hey. Cut him off, okay?  _ (Picking up some signing from Ghoul had its uses.)

Jet took one look, blanched, and nodded firmly. _ Yeah, he’s so done. _

“Pony could learn a few things from him.” Cherri said. 

Kobra turned back to the stage. Yikes. “Mad Gear, even,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Like, who put fireants in his jeans?”

“Actually reminds me of the time Radiation Wrecker dropped a garter snake down Greek Fire’s collar at the Halloween bonfire.”

Kobra did grin then. “Oh shit, it does.”

The instrumental part of the song came up and, much to the crowd’s glee, Party slid into a frankly shocking routine involving the microphone stand that made Kobra groan and put a hand over his eyes.

“Not again. Somebody stop him,” he said, but made no move to get up and haul him offstage.

A slightly horrified Cherri wasn’t able to tear his eyes away for a moment. “That guy’s got moves he had no business knowing,” he agreed with a laugh, taking another sip.

Kobra dropped his hand to give him a cold, dead stare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

“What?”

“You don’t get to talk about my brother like that, that’s what!”

“Kobra, your brother is currently trying to swing from the chandelier!”

Okay, he was, but that was beside the point. Kobra shook his head and glared at Cherri again. “So?”

“So, double standard much? You were shittalking him just as much as me a second ago.”

“Really. You’re gonna sit there and tell me I should be cool with that.”

“What is your problem!”

“What’s  _ your _ problem?”

“K, c’mon. Can’t you take a joke?”

Kobra kicked his stool back and stood up. “We’re done here.”

He hadn’t said it particularly loud, but the song had just come to an end and everyone in proximity heard. 

A chorus of whoops and jeers went up from the other patrons as he made his exit.

“Sorry ‘bout your girlfriend, Kobra!”

“It’s free real estate!”

“Someone call that shit in to the news!”

“More for the rest of us, eh Cola?”

Cherri gave the room a quick gesture and the hoots quickly subsided. 

Just in time for an oblivious Party to plop down right next to him, still breathless from his performance and radiating the energy he’d absorbed from the crowd. 

He swiped Cherri’s half empty glass and downed the rest of it. "What'd I miss?"


	2. Kobra

He was in the warm darkness of the shack they’d been crashing in. His head was pounding. 

He reached out, half-blindly, and relaxed when he found Poison’s warm body sprawled out on an old blanket beside him. Still here. Passed out and smelling like dust and gasoline and alcohol, but still here. For once.

A shadow slid across the dirt floor, seeping in where the sunlight had been coming through the crack under the door.

_ BANGBANGBANG. _

The noise nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“Disco?” Some annoying nasally voice.

He raised his head, wincing. “Fuck off.”

_ BANGBANGBANG. _

“Is Disco there? Rising Sun sent me, and he says – ”

Dammit. He stumbled to the door and yanked it open. It was so bright he could only make out the silhouette of the scrawny asshole. “Knock on this door one more time and I’ll knock out your teeth, my brother’s sleeping. The hell do you want.” His hands twitched involuntarily, and he stuffed them into the pockets of his ragged white school jacket.

“I’m looking for Death Before Disco? If he doesn’t show up again he’s – ”

“Never heard of him.” He shut the door in the asshole’s face and slumped against the wall, fighting back a wave of nausea. When it subsided enough, he half-fell back over to Poison and curled up next to him.

When he closed his eyes all he saw were pills. 

Ghoul snapped his fingers in his face. “Ground control to Snake Boy. How hungover are you? I said, where’s the water filter.”

Kobra was in the diner kitchen. 

“Oh,” Kobra said. He rubbed his aching temples. “Uh. In the thing.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the right cabinet.

“Thank you. Now finish your joe and for Destroya’s sake get a grip. We got places to run today.” Ghoul turned away, and almost tripped over a pile of old computers in the middle of the floor. “Motherfuckin – are these yours?”

Kobra shook his head.

“Well, when Cherri gets back tell him he has to move them.” Ghoul grabbed the water filter and stomped off. “Fuckin’ scavengers leaving their shit everywhere.” 

Oh yeah. Cherri was in the middle of some project and had dragged all the electronics inside to keep them out of the weather.

Ohhhh yeah. Cherri. The events of last night came rushing back. Bastard. He’d better not come back anytime soon, or he’d get a very warm welcome from Kobra’s fist. He usually radioed before he came by, though.

Kobra pulled out his transmitter and switched it off.


	3. Kobra

Kobra was in the front yard. 

He’d hauled a table out here to work on his power glove in the sunlight where he could actually see what he was doing. It was shorting out again. There had to be a broken wire buried in it somewhere, but he’d been poking around for an hour and still couldn’t find it. 

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. A faint, repeating noise like rusty metal. And it was getting louder.

Kobra glanced up. 

There was a droid coming toward the diner, a droid with shiny synthetic purple hair and wearing a miniscule pleather dress. With each step it took something creaked. 

It wasn’t the first one he’d seen out this far, but it wasn’t a common sight. 

It – she – noticed him and raised a tentative hand in greeting.

Kobra gave her a nod back. 

He never knew how to act around droids. They kind of creeped him out because they were so  _ close  _ to human, but just different enough -- just a little too perfect -- that it made his skin crawl. On the other hand, they could very well have souls of some kind, and he didn’t want to treat them like machines. Mostly he politely ignored them. 

Before Kobra could ask what she wanted, Party came out of the diner and went to meet her. “Hey.”

“Hello,” the droid responded. A polite, feminine voice, slightly metallic.

“You don’t sound too good there. Shoulder, right?”

“Oh, I -- ”

“Stay there.” Party went inside for a minute and came back out with a can of machine oil. “Have a seat.”

She wrung her hands. “I don’t...”

“Free of charge. Sit. Pony send you?”

The droid sat. “Yes.”

“Pony’s cool. May I?” When she nodded, Party found her shoulder seam with careful fingers and peeled back the panel of skin to expose the joint.

“Got a name?” he said as he worked.

She ducked her head. “Not yet.”

“It comes to you.” Party said. “Give it time. Where you headed?”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “I’m looking for someone.”

Party nodded. “Most of us are,” was all he said. He smoothed the skin back down and gave her shoulder a pat. “Try that out.”

She moved her arm around experimentally. The creak was gone. “It’s much better. Thank you.”

“We’ve got power, if you need a charge or anything before you head out.”

The droid shook her head. “Thank you. I’m a fairly new model, actually.” She leaned in a little, like she was sharing a secret. “There are micro solar right cells in our skin.” She held out her arms to show him, a little proudly, even though you couldn’t see them. 

“That  _ is _ new. Pretty rad.” Party smiled, without a hint of flirtation in it --  _ Party_, who flirted indiscriminately with everyone he met -- and the droid almost smiled back. 

“I should go,” she said, glancing up at the sun as if gauging the time of day. 

“Sure. Keep runnin’.”

A real smile split the droid’s delicate face at that. “Keep running,” she replied, obviously pleased at the opportunity to return the very human send-off, and started toward the dunes. 

“Someone,” Ghoul said from the doorway, “needs to tell Pony we’re not a one-stop shop for every rustbucket in Z-6.” 

“Watch your mouth,” said Party, bristling. Which made no sense, because the shit like that Ghoul said just to rile people usually didn’t faze Party at all. 

“I’ll watch your mom’s mouth,” Ghoul muttered bitchily, which made no sense either (his comebacks rarely did), but he went back inside. 

Party stood aimlessly in the yard for a minute and watched the droid go, and Kobra watched him. 

Weird. Now that Kobra thought about it, Party never let a lone droid pass by the diner without offering a charge and a tuneup. Actually, Party treated all the droids he came across with that strange gentleness and respect. He had never quite been able to place it, the manner Party took with them -- casual, to put them at ease, yet oddly grave at the same time. 

It was almost a...comradeship. 

Kobra didn’t like that thought at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's starting to piece it together...


	4. Kobra

Kobra was in the common area. 

He was reading a zine. Trying to. His eyes kept going unfocused and he couldn’t concentrate on the words, like his mind wanted to be elsewhere but hadn’t decided where yet. Probably just the heat. 

Party entered, looking baffled. 

“Cherri just called _ my _radio,” he said. “He wanted to talk to you? Said he couldn’t get through on yours.”

Kobra scoffed. 

“K, it’s been two weeks. What’s your deal? You never fight.” 

"We fight," Kobra said. 

Party raised an eyebrow. 

Kobra pulled the zine back up in front of his face. Okay, fine, they never fought for real. They got into vigorous debates about conspiracy theories or film interpretations or the relative merits of supermotos versus power cruisers, but they’d never had an actual falling-out like this. 

Still, he wasn’t about to try to explain to Party why he wasn’t speaking to Cherri anymore. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. 

“Well, what should I tell him?”

“Whatever you want.” 

“For the love of…” Party was starting to sound mad. He slammed the transmitter down in front of Kobra. “You know what? Nevermind. I’m not your fucking secretary. What happened with you two?”

“Nothing!” Kobra insisted, starting to get mad himself. He didn’t have to sit here and be interrogated like this. He stood up to go, but Party blocked his way. 

“Seriously, do I have to beat him up for you or something? What’s going on?” 

“I said,” Kobra gritted out, trying to keep his temper, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“This isn’t like you! What did he do?” Party wouldn’t get out of his face. 

Kobra snapped. 

“He pretty much outright called you a redlight doll, okay?” he burst out. “So just drop it.”

Party didn’t blanch at the slur. He didn’t even look surprised. Just...bemused, almost.

“The hell did that come from,” he said mildly. 

“That’s what I said,” Kobra fumed. 

“When was this, the other night?” When Kobra didn’t deny it, Party rolled his eyes. “K, we were all juiced. Let it go.” 

“He doesn’t get to say shit like that,” Kobra said stubbornly. 

“And I don’t need you jumping to defend my honor like I’m some kinda damsel in stress!”

“_ Di_stress?”

“Whatever!”

“It’s not whatever! Why are you defending him?” 

“Because he was joking! Because it’s not a big deal! Because people will say anything!” Party exploded. “Witch! Just cuz I had a lobby gig back in the day doesn’t mean I’m some kinda –”

Party snapped his mouth shut. 

Kobra stared. Had he heard Party right? 

“What,” said Kobra, “the fuck.” 

“Don’t look so scandalized!” Party said hastily. He obviously hadn’t intended to let that slip. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“How – when the _ hell_ \-- ”

“It was a billion years ago! And I thought you...”

Kobra realized, too late, just as it closed over his head, that an icy rage had been creeping up over him like quicksand. 

He crossed his arms across his chest so he wouldn’t sock his brother in the jaw. 

“How many times, Party?” he said tightly. “How many more times are we going to do this? What else are you keeping from me?”

“Kobra, you kn – ”

“It’s not that it’s this!” Kobra’s voice went shrill with frustration. “It’s all of it, every damn time...I’m not a fucking child! You don’t have to protect me!” 

“Ok, sure, fine!” Party spat back. “When exactly would have been a good time to bring that up, specifically? ‘Morning, Kobra, what’s for breakfast? By the way, remember when we first got out of the City and I had to cut a deal with some robot-pimping club owner so we didn’t starve? Good times!’”

“Fuck you, Party.” Kobra sank back down into his chair, elbows on the table, head in his hands. “I can’t do this again.” 

This was bad. He should have seen it coming from miles away. Everything had fallen into place, every detail he had been ignoring from day one. And ugh, Kobra was a self-centered bitch. He should feel concern right now, sympathy, anything but this all too familiar isolation. 

Why wasn’t Party saying anything? Had he left? 

“Kobra…” Still here, then. 

“What.”

“You...you don’t remember that?”

Kobra lowered his hands. “No!” 

Party looked blank. “I didn’t talk about it, but I thought you knew.” 

What? 

So Party hadn’t been keeping more secrets. On purpose, anyway. That was new. 

Kobra started to regret yelling. Still, how could Party have expected him to recall any of that? 

“Dude,” he said helplessly. “I was _ out _of it.” 

“Yeah.” Party said. “Yeah, guess so.” 

There was no barb in his words, but Kobra felt a rush of guilt knot his stomach. Because here was Party, not clamming up, not screaming at him, not running off, baring yet another layer of his past which had to hurt pretty damn bad for how rarely (never) he willingly did it. And here was Kobra making it all about himself, which was stupid, because it had nothing to do with him at all. 

Except it did, because if he hadn’t been so screwed up and useless back then… 

“Okay, then,” Party said quietly. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

The words snapped Kobra out of his rumination. That was an offer you never got from Party. The least he could do now was hear him out. 

A dozen questions rushed through his mind -- why was he acting so neutral about all this, like it didn’t matter, like it had happened to someone else? Did he actually not care? How bad had it really been? 

So he settled on the simplest question he could. “What happened?”

“I told you.” Party waved a dismissive hand. “Ran outta carbons and luck on the cards. Ended up wandering into this club and -- “ A giggle bubbled out of him at the ridiculousness of it, and he slapped at Kobra’s arm, an invitation for him to laugh too. (He didn’t.) “-- got mistaken for one of the new male lines they were selling. Must’ve looked enough alike in the dark at least. Anyway, turns out the droids themselves couldn’t dance for shit cuz they’d run into some programming bugs with ‘em, so the owner offered me a platform. It was a lousy deal for what I got, now that I think about it, but hell, I didn’t know any better, and a night was enough for a day’s food back then. Two, if it was power pup.” 

“And?” Kobra ventured, trying to keep the skepticism out of his tone. 

“And nothing.” Party glared at him in mock offense. “Oh, please. Don’t look at me like that. I may’ve been stupid, but I have _ standards_. It‘s not like I was a stripper, damn. The pants were pretty tight though," he added, and laughed. 

It seemed like a genuine enough laugh, but Kobra grimaced a little. The flippant way Party was treating this whole thing was actually more disturbing than if he had gone all silent and mysterious about it. Was he still hiding something?

He must not have looked convinced because Party rolled his eyes.

“Eye candy, Kobra,” he assured him with exaggerated solemnity, crossing his heart. “Window shoppers only. The lobby’s prettiest heartbreaker.” 

“Ugh. Please tell me you used an alias.”

“_K_. I’m not a _ complete _idiot.”

“Then what was it?” Kobra blurted on instinct, because he was Party’s little brother, after all, and he had a role to live up to as the most annoying person in Party’s life -- just as, oh shit, he realized he already knew exactly what it had been. 

“Like I’d tell you!” Party said loftily.

“Fine, be that way. I know what it is.”

“You don’t!”

“I do.”

“Prove it.”

Kobra smirked. “Like I’d tell you.”

“Touche.”

“So…” Kobra hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to ask this. Wasn’t sure how much say Party’d had in whether he could leave. “How...Why’d you stop?”

“Oh. That.” Party looked sheepish. “I might have, uh, caused a little bit of a riot.” 

“Wait, what?”

“Okay, okay, fine, so it’s an antsy crowd that night anyway, itching for an excuse to go Costa Rica, when some drunk patron comes in and can’t seem to understand I’m just a floor model and they get hella mad and then the bouncers get involved and that gives everyone else an excuse to jump in and, well.” Party laughed again. “Next night, the guy who ran the place said if i wasn’t gonna book rooms I was more trouble than I was worth and kicked me out.”

Kobra had no idea what to make of that story. “Damn.”

“I know, right?” Party shook his head. “At any rate, a couple days later I hit the tables again and won the car and it had a good half tank still in it too, so we hit the red line outta there.”

“Good fucking riddance.”

“K, it wasn’t that bad,” Party said wearily. “Gotta get your thick skin from somewhere, right? Sure, it was a wretched hive of scum and villainy and whatever, but we _all _had shitty gigs in the beginning.” 

“Not like...that.”

Party smacked the back of his head. “Ey, watch it, kid. Don’t diss the profession that kept meat on your bones.” 

He was joking, but something about his tone made Kobra decide to try to keep the mood light. “Well, I’m glad to see it didn’t put you off the whole dancing thing,” he said dryly. 

“What, you think I’d let a few handsy bastards stop me from blessing the zones with these moves?” Party hit a ridiculous pose. “Perish the thought.” 

Destroya, what was wrong with him? He was acting like the whole thing was a big joke. Maybe it had been. 

Kobra doubted it. But he wasn’t going to ask that.

“And you never ran into any of those again, out here?” he said instead.

“Nah,” Party grinned. “Have to fight ‘em to the death for my colors or something if I did.” Then his face fell, and for the first time he looked a bit grim. “They were knockoffs, offbrands. Made to be cheap, not last. Don’t think any of ‘em could’ve made it this far even if they did get out.” 

That turned the conversation too sober for comfort. 

“Ugh. Remind me to never go to the lobby,” Kobra said. “Stick to the underground for sure. None of those shady nightcl --” 

Party’s eyes narrowed. “The fucking what?”


	5. Kobra

Shit. 

“I mean, I _ hear _the underground is cool!” Kobra said desperately. “It’s not just supply smuggling and stuff, you know, they’ve got boxing rings and concerts and racing on the old subway tracks -- ”

“Phoenix Witch,” Party said, dawning realization and indignation and a _ ha-I’m-right _smugness mingling on his face. “You’ve been to the underground.” 

“_Allegedly _ they have all that stuff!” Kobra backpedaled frantically. “Allegedly!”

“How in the -- is that where you go all the times you disa -- ?”

“No, no! I swear I haven’t been back since I was fo...” Dammit. Welp, that opossum was completely out of the basket now. Kobra really was an idiot. 

“When you were_ what?_” Party looked as scandalized as if Kobra had said _ he _ was a stripper. “You ran in the underground. _ Before we left_.” 

“Barely! Just the outskir -- ”

“You could have got yourself ghosted! Caught, reeducated, programmed!” Party lunged at him and Kobra stumbled backward. “Imbecile! Fucking stupidass, I swear you got dropped on your head as a baby! How could you! My past self is having a panic attack in the city right now. _ I’m _having a panic attack right now.” 

He wasn’t, he was just mad, but _ boy _he was mad. Kobra held him off at arms length as he threw wild swings at him. 

“Party!” he yelped. “I hardly -- jeez, not the face -- hardly ever -- ” He lost his footing, toppling over into a booth and taking Party with him. He threw Party off and Party stumbled back into a chair. 

“Destroya preserve us.” Party sat down heavily, losing interest in beating the shit out of him. “And you didn’t tell me.”

Kobra just looked at him. Waiting for him to remember just how many times Kobra’d told him those exact words. 

It took a moment, but Party nodded ruefully and looked away. “Okay, I deserve that.” He slumped back in his chair with a huff of a laugh. “You were always the crazy one, back there.” 

Kobra shrugged. Party never asked what he’d been up to when he played hooky and got nabbed. It’d been safer for both of them if he didn’t know. Kobra'd never been nabbed when he was_ in _the Underground, but he'd been caught in the bad part of town during education hours a few too many times. It was the Batts’ own damn fault, anyway. They were the ones constantly fucking with his doses those last couple years, making him so restless and aggressive that he’d felt like he was seconds away from putting a fist through a brick wall or throttle one of the dracs on street patrol at any given moment. The bastards should’ve thanked him for doing something as nondestructive as exploring the Underground, honestly. What they should've done was cut their losses and send him to programming when they kept catching him in trouble, but they'd been so dead set on getting him into the Scarecrow project that they'd just reprimand him and adjust his dose again. 

The funny thing was, when Party ventured into the underground for a way out that final week, Kobra probably already knew the people he was looking for that could help them find a route. But Party had taken away his meds and he’d already been starting to drift, so. 

And Party had been so careful back then, so reserved, so perfectly self controlled that he’d been on the lowest amount allowed, and once he didn’t have to be any of those things anymore he let the color and noise take him over completely and never looked back. Kobra, coming off dangerously high amounts of Witch knew what, had fallen hard in the opposite direction. He wondered sometimes if he was really himself even now, or if they’d irreparably damaged him, somehow, and Kobra would never know who he might have been if he’d grown up without them...

Him and Party weren’t all that different, though. Party could be aloof and moody just as easily as Kobra could still be a total troublemaker and get up to all kinds of shit. Especially with an accomplice like Ghoul around. 

“Anyway, the Undergrounders are the real MVPs,” Kobra said. “Juvies…”

Party scoffed in solidarity. “Juvies are the worst,” he finished for him. “Wishy-washy yellow-bellied slumdogs, all of ‘em.” 

Undergrounders played a vital role in killjoys’ continued existence -- coordinated zonerunners and supply chains, helped find escape routes for citizens who wanted out. But there was no love lost between any self-respecting ‘joy and the juvie halls. Zonedwellers regarded them as disgraceful in-betweeners -- one foot in freedom and the other solidly and unforgivably planted in the City. Their pornodroid industry was huge, not to mention the drug scene. Unless you were into either of those, there was little to tempt you to go anywhere near the lobby. 

“Yeah, fuck the lobby.” Party’s face had gone empty and tired. “You know the worst part, though?”

Kobra closed his eyes briefly. Damn it. He had actually started to hope it wasn’t that bad. 

“What?” he said, gently as he could. He didn’t want to know. 

“How awful the music was in there!” Party gave him a shit-eating grin. “That trash _ sucked_. Got stuck in your head for weeks.” 

The little prick. “Fuck you!” Kobra made a grab for him. 

Party dodged around a chair, cackling. “Oh, they tried, baby, they tried! Can’t touch this!” 

Kobra chased him around for a minute, but Party kept dancing just out of his reach and Kobra didn’t really feel like throttling him, so he settled for throwing condiment bottles until Party quit singing MC Hammer lyrics. “No more secrets, Party. Anything else you’d like to share with the class?” 

“What else do you want to know?” Party said, starting to sound frustrated again. He caught the next condiment Kobra lobbed at him and hurled it back. “That I stole your pencils in third year? That I don’t actually like your EDM remixes? That I pick my nose and wipe it on your shirt when you’re not looking?”

Kobra stopped short, a saltshaker glancing off his shoulder. “Ew, you do?”

“No, moron! But would it make you feel better if I told you I did?” 

Kobra barely kept his mouth from twitching up. “Fair enough. That it?”

“Unless you wanna know about the time there was this girl who took me up to this old observatory and – ”

“Stop! Uncle, uncle!” Kobra shrieked. “Party, you bitch!” He dived at him again. 

The scuffle didn’t last long. They somehow ended up under the table where there was too much interference from the chair legs to properly wrestle, and it was too hot anyway. 

“Oof.” Party shoved Kobra’s knee out of his stomach. 

Kobra yanked his sleeve out of Party’s mouth. “You’re as bad as Ghoul. No biting.” 

They lounged down there for a while on the grimy floor. Kobra glanced up. There was bazillion year old chewing gum in several different colors stuck all under the table. Gross. 

“Really?” Kobra said. He couldn’t help himself. “A girl?” 

“It was one time!” 

Kobra sighed and let that revolting subject drop. He shifted to look at Party. “Can you honestly tell me it wasn’t fucked up in there?” 

Party met his gaze steadily. 

“It was just another shitty gig, K,” he said. 

Kobra studied Party for another minute, and Party studied him right back.

So eventually Kobra nodded and looked away. “Okay.” 

“Kobra, please. Lighten up. You know I’d be offended if people _ didn’t _think I was a massive slut,” Party said airily, climbing out from under the table and pulling Kobra to his feet. “Anyway, Cola’s your best friend and he didn’t mean anything by it and Witch knows you’ve called people worse. Radio him.” 

He slapped the transmitter into Kobra’s palm and gave him a shove toward the door. 

Kobra went. 

At the door he paused. Party was already staring out the window, chewing on a fingernail. He looked...withdrawn. Pensive. Like one of the things he’d mentioned was something he had managed to forget about and he’d accidentally made himself sad. Which thing, Kobra had no idea. 

Kobra slipped out, still feeling guilty about dredging up the past but a little glad to know it hadn’t been as awful as he feared. 

A small, secret part of him, the part that still felt like a scared little kid he was mostly able to successfully ignore, had always wondered why Party had disappeared, all those nights. Left him there, like _ that_, shivering and jumping at his own shadow and waiting out the torturous fantasies of white pills and IVs and the relief of nothingness they brought. 

He’d always wanted to believe Party had a good reason. He never asked, though, because it was safer to blindly hope that Party did rather than entertain the possibility that Party just didn’t care and was off somewhere living it up and stealing some precious time away from the withdrawal-crippled brother holding him back. Kobra had been too fucked up to even question why Party was suddenly able to bring back food that wasn’t power pup for the first time in weeks, which Kobra had barely been able to stomach since eating a bad can one of their first few days in the zones and getting the worst food poisoning of his life. 

Kobra should have had more faith in him. 

And yet, just because Party hadn’t lied didn’t mean there weren’t things he left out. 

Kobra didn’t like that thought either. 

He did his best not to think it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH YES WE WENT THERE


	6. Kobra

Kobra was in the front yard again. 

“I’m an asshole,” Cherri said as soon as he got off his bike. “I’d’ve said so sooner, but, well, nevermind. I, uh, brought bandaids.” He held up a little box. 

Kobra frowned. “What for?” 

“For me,” Cherri told him solemnly. “Shoulda brought ice instead, probably, but I didn’t have any. So. What’s it going to be?” 

Kobra’s neutral mask slipped then, and he let out a giggle. “Oh c’mere, doofus.” 

“If you’re faking me out and gonna stab me from behind or something, tell Doc he can have my record collection,” Cherri said, and stepped into his hug. 

“I was an asshole too,” Kobra said next to his ear. “Totally overreacted. You didn’t even say anything.” 

“I said enough. It was still shitty,” Cherri said, giving him a squeeze before letting him go. “I hear things, that’s all. Not that any of it’s true.” 

“No,” Kobra agreed. 

Cherri did hear some strange things as a part-time DJ. Weird things. Cherri was no gossip, so he attracted darker, stranger rumors, the kind of rumors that would make lesser 'joys wonder if maybe they weren't better off taking their chances in the city if that was what the zones were truly like. Rumors too bizarre to even call in to Dr. D’s station. 

Ninety-seven percent of them were pure fiction, and Cherri knew that. 

“Even if it were true, you know I’d never hold it against anyone,” Cherri said. “Do what it takes to survive, right?”

Kobra shrugged. “That’s what people say. So you hear things, huh?” he added, curiosity getting the better of him. “What else do you hear?”

Cherri grinned. “Oh, let’s see. You’re blind a bat, hence the shades of course – ”

“Of course.”

“And Jet is, in fact, an android -- ”

“Naturally.”

“And Poison has nine lives, like Mousekat – ”

“Probably true.”

“As for Ghoul, well, he’s reported dead at least three times a week...”


	7. Poison

When Poison walked by the front windows of the diner he saw Cherri rambling at Kobra in the front yard. Kobra wasn’t attacking him, so Party guessed they were on speaking terms again. 

He watched them for a while. The little shit. Running around the underground at fourteen fucking years old? He should have punched Kobra’s lights out. 

And he should have known Kobra would find out about the lobby. Kobra had found out about everything else. 

He was a little proud of himself for making it through that conversation without falling apart or lying to Kobra’s face, actually. If he had acted anything but his untouchable self…

He just hoped he’d been able to convince Kobra that it hadn’t been that bad. 

Nothing felt real in the lobby, after all. 

It was a combination of the not-unpleasant but weird smell of the fog juice from the smoke machines mingling with whatever the fuck the patrons were smoking, the flickering neon lights, the thumping of the horrible trap music that gave you a faint headache, seeping into your eardrums and lingering there long after sunrise. 

And if he was a little glassy-eyed, well, all the better. None of these sleazebags suspected he was wasn’t a droid, anyway. Just another nameless floor model in a lineup of different colors, shapes, genders. 

There was nothing to it, honestly. A little flaunting, a little sultry movement -- dreamy, detached, the late hours dragging on in a haze -- a little lazy batting of the eyelashes at a lingering stranger, a secret smile as if just for them and a confidential indicating of the Available sign flickering at the hall entrance on the far end of the showroom -- and as soon as dawn began to tinge the windows of the venue pink, Poison was stealing back to their hideaway with three cool carbons clutched tight in his hand. 

Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. Until he met one of them. 

Poison was slipping in the back alley entrance, pulling the grey hoodie off his head. There was a mirror at the end of the hall, and he went up to it to assess the damage, see how fucked up his hair had gotten on his way here and if he’d have to fix it before doors opened. 

But his reflection wasn’t cooperating -- which wasn’t how reflections worked, he didn’t think -- and he was wondering if it was possible to get that high just from the secondhand smoke hanging in the air when he realized -- 

“Shit!” he said. “Sorry. I thought -- ” 

Because it wasn’t a mirror in front of him, it was one of...them. 

The machines. 

He had a couple inches on Poison and his hair was an oranger red, the nose a little more masculine, the mouth a little wider -- but the resemblance was still unnerving. 

“You are the human,” the droid said, tilting his head slightly. 

“Uh. Yes,” said Poison. 

“Do you know robotics?”

“What?”

“My wrist. It is malfunctioning.” The droid tried to rotate his hand, which made a clicking noise and stuttered through the movement. “The mechanic is repairing 23DD56 and I have a reservation in seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds.” 

“Um,” Poison managed, caught completely off guard. He didn’t know shit about robotics. “Gah. Uh. I can try. Come into the light a bit?” 

The droid stepped closer to the neon light on the wall and extended his arm. 

Poison took it, trying not to think about where it might have been last. 

For some reason he’d been expecting it to feel cool and plasticky, but the skin was warm and soft as his own. That was a bit disturbing. Then again, it made sense, because what good would a pornodroid with cold skin be?

“There is a panel here.” The droid indicated a faint line running up his forearm. 

“Ah.” With some difficulty, Poison pried his wrist open, revealing a mess of wires and tiny gears. Great. If it was an electrical thing, there wasn’t going to be anything he could do. “Hm. Move it again, please?”

The droid obliged, and Poison saw the problem. “Oh, you’ve just got a belt coming off this cog here. If I can just…” He eased it back on. “Now do it.”

The droid tried it again, and his hand rotated smoothly without a sound. He flashed a polite smile at Poison. “Thank you. I know you are not the mechanic, but I can repay you later -- ” 

“Noooo nononono, thanks though,” Poison said hastily, barely stopping himself from jumping backward. “Jeez. Ever heard of just helping people out because it’s the not-shitty thing to do?” 

The droid cocked his head at him again. (Damn, this was so _weird_, watching a face so similar to his own look faintly confused at his words.) 

“Everything has a price,” the droid said. 

“Maybe so.” Poison eased the wrist panel shut and released his arm. “Doesn’t mean the buyer’s always the one who pays.” 

Something in the droid’s head started whirring faintly, a little fan maybe, like he was trying to compute something and was starting to overheat from the effort. 

But all he said was, “I should go find Sun and finish charging.” 

“Oh. There’s a plug there, if you want it.” Poison spotted one near the floorboard. 

The droid shook its head. “We have encrypted power ports. He is the only one who can unlock them.” 

“Pfft, get the right guy and you could hack ‘em, I bet,” Poison said without thinking. 

“Why?”

Poison blinked. “So you could leave. So you could do whatever you want.” 

“Leave my work? Abandon my purpose?”

Poison had to scoff at that. “Out in the zones we pave our own highways.”

It was one of the first things he’d heard on the radio in the desert, something that deep-voiced guy had said. Doctor Death-Detector or something. He didn’t quite remember the name, but the broadcast was seared into his brain, word-for-word. _We pave our own highways with the gravestones of our enemies and paint the lines with our own blood…_

“Oh.” The fan noise got louder. (Poison wondered belatedly if robots even did metaphors.) “Droids too?”

“Hell yeah. I’ve seen ‘em.” 

“What is yours?”

“My what?”

“Your purpose. Your...highway?”

Poison opened his mouth. Closed it again. “I...uh....” 

“Disco! Getting cozy with the merchandise?” Sun came around the corner. “Get out there, redlights go on in five. And stay away from the dolls.” He beckoned to the droid. “You. What are you doing out of your power station? You’re booked solid tonight, I need you fully charged. Get moving.” 

The droid followed Sun wordlessly, leaving Poison standing in the hall. 

“See ya,” Poison said. 

But he didn’t. The droid was already in an appointment by the time Poison arrived the following night, and that was the night everything went Costa Rica and the next thing Poison knew he was gunning it down the Getaway Mile with his brother beside him (valiantly trying not to be carsick, but beside Party nonetheless), with the wind tearing at his hair and the exhilaration of freedom -- real freedom, _finally _\-- coursing through his blood, and Z-1 was swallowed up by the horizon in his rearview mirror completely. 

It had been such an uncanny encounter that afterward Poison wasn’t sure he hadn’t dreamt it, anyway.

And so he tried to forget it along with the rest of those long nights and other memories that still lurked behind locked doors he’d decided long ago to never open, forget that indefensible betrayal of his own ideals about humanity and free will and shit -- forget that regardless of the fact that those droids would have been sold anyway, he had helped to sell them, and something as simple as hunger had driven him to it. 

Because despite the fact that those models perhaps hadn’t been gifted with the fastest processors, like all the ones he’d met there was _something _about them, something separating them from like, a microwave or whatever, and not just because they _looked _human. 

He’d heard things for the first time in the lobby, too, read things scrawled on the walls of the alleys and abandoned buildings. Things about a graffiti bible, things about an iron savior…

But surely that was just superstition. 

Still, he couldn’t help but think about what the droid had asked him, all those years ago. For a long time he’d been no closer to an answer than he had been that night, caught off-guard in that smoky hallway. It was so clear to him now, though, that he wondered why he’d ever agonized over it so much.

Protect his brother. Protect his crew. Give BL/Ind hell. Save the world. 

That’s all there was to it, really. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the could-have-beens. 

Certainly not memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a happier note, perhaps that simple exchange sparked into a small lobby revolution someday, one Poison would never find out he had a hand in. Who knows. Small kindnesses tend to ripple out that way, I like to think. 
> 
> But that would be another story.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about because I wanted to attempt writing those types of conversations that are like, hilarious but sad at the same time? You know the ones. where maybe both people are laughing and joking around because the angsty subtext is a little too real to acknowledge. It turned out kind of weird, but there you are. (I almost titled it I Never Told You What I Did for a Living but thought that was a little too on the nose, lmao. Anyway, hope you enjoyed???


End file.
